


throw your toys out of the pram

by lacrimalis



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dettlaff Can't Find Milton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Geralt Arrives Fashionably Late To The Blood & Wine Expansion, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-03 16:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17881064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacrimalis/pseuds/lacrimalis
Summary: Sir Milton de Peyrac-Peyran.Dettlaff had recognized the name instantly as one of the Duchess’s right-hand men. He was relieved it was no one he knew personally this time, and someone renowned enough he would not have to draw attention to himself for the asking.There was just one problem.No one seemed to know where the manwas.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been eight days since Dettlaff last slept.

At first it was guilt and grief that had stolen his sleep. He hadn’t wanted to kill Count de la Croix, and it had seemed like a cruel joke of fate that the blackmailers had forced his hand so soon after Dettlaff had befriended the man. It had been agony to choose between his long-gone beloved and his newly-made friend, but in the end, he had done as the blackmailers asked.

Did they _know_ Dettlaff had befriended de la Croix? How much of this grim obligation was in service of the blackmailers’ mysterious crusade, and how much was torture tailored specifically for Dettlaff?

He couldn't go out for a few days after that, waiting as he was for his severed hand to regenerate. It was foolish to leave it, and he hoped the bruxa he'd dispatched to retrieve it would soon succeed so as to leave as little evidence as possible.

But even after his hand had regenerated, his outings grew fewer. Dettlaff kept his interactions with others to a minimum, to the point where he would go days without speaking. All that kept him going was hope that Rhenawedd would finally be restored to him, unharmed, as the blackmailers implied she would be if Dettlaff complied with their demands.

 _You shall slay five men in the manner we prescribe,_ the blackmailers had written.

Five men. Dettlaff had killed three. Only two remained, and Rhenawedd would be in his arms again.

It was only after receiving the name of his fourth victim that sleep began to evade Dettlaff in earnest.

 _Sir Milton de Peyrac-Peyran,_ the note read, and inside its folds were Dettlaff's latest grisly instructions.

He had recognized the name instantly as one of the Duchess’s right-hand men. He was relieved it was no one he knew personally this time, and someone renowned enough he would not have to draw attention to himself for the asking.

There was just one problem.

No one seemed to know where the man _was._

It had been two days since Dettlaff received the note, and he was teetering on the brink of madness with all the court gossip that swarmed like lazy, irresolute mayflies in his head.

_“Did you hear the Duchess sent Sir Peyrac-Peyran away on a secret mission? And with the tourney right around the corner!”_

_“They say he’s with Baron de Launfal in Vizima, on some business with the Emperor.”_

_“I heard he was in Novigrad with a whole retinue of knights errant, defending non-humans from the accusations of the Church of the Eternal Fire.”_

_“Not at all! Didn’t you hear? He’s on a crusade to slay the pirate lords of Skellige, with a whole battalion of soldiers!”_

No matter how many hours he crept as a cloud of seething red smoke in the ducal palace, Dettlaff could not ascertain the knight errant’s whereabouts. No courtier or noble, no servant or field hand, seemed to agree on where the Duchess had sent Sir Peyrac-Peyran.

It was almost as if she _knew_ , Dettlaff thought, and he had almost confronted the Duchess herself when the thought occurred to him. He recognized at the last moment that his paranoia was driving him to behave recklessly, and he abstained from revealing himself in such a foolish, damning stroke. But that nevertheless left Dettlaff pacing at the same roadblock he'd been stuck at for the past two days.

Dettlaff left the The Rocking Horse through the window, reassembling into corporeality in an alleyway. It wouldn't do to arouse suspicion by walking in and out of the derelict toy shop.

It had not escaped his notice that the crows in Beauclair had begun behaving strangely soon after he arrived. Knowing them to be Regis’s familiars of choice, he had avoided them, not wishing to embroil his friend in the ghastly predicament in which Dettlaff had found himself. Though he had told Regis his business was private when he left the other vampire in his home in Metinna, it was touching that Regis had nevertheless pursued him out of what could only be concern.

Now, Dettlaff’s gratitude was multiplied by infinitudes when he found a crow on a fence post by the docks outside his home. The bird visibly straightened in recognition when it saw him approach.

Dettlaff held out his fist, and the crow nearly battered his face in its haste to alight on his forearm. He couldn’t help the beginnings of a smile at the corner of his mouth, though anxiety swept it away just as quickly as it had come. The bird’s eagerness spoke to how desperately Regis awaited news of him.

“Tell Regis I need to meet with him as soon as possible,” Dettlaff said. “I... need his help.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, the crow winged away in a gust of black feathers. A few dock hands cast him curious looks, and Dettlaff made himself scarce.

The crows in the city seemed to track his progress, alighting on the eaves of buildings he passed and murmuring to each other in their raspy voices. A single knot in the gnarled ball of tension in his chest unraveled, knowing Regis would seek him out as soon as he’d learned of Dettlaff’s plight.

Though he'd focused on spying and skulking for the past two days, he couldn't afford to remain unseen any longer. If the blackmailers were as well-informed as Dettlaff had been lead to believe, they would also know of Sir Peyrac-Peyran’s absence, and they would want to send Dettlaff new instructions. He would need to move about in public to receive the covert notes his malefactor was so fond of.

Though it grated on him to sit idly by, there was little else he could do with so precious little to go on.

So he went to have his shoes shined.

* * *

“Welcome back, sir,” said the young bootblack.

“Good day,” mumbled Dettlaff as he seated himself in the bootblack’s empty chair, though it was anything but.

“If’n you don’t mind me saying so, sir,” the bootblack said as he began polishing Dettlaff’s boots, “I haven’t seen you in a while. I was beginning to wonder, what with all this Beast of Beauclair talk...”

Dettlaff stiffened in the chair. “What of it?” he snapped.

The bootblack glanced up at Dettlaff with a keen eye, but Dettlaff took a deep breath and stayed his claws. The young man had a sharp mind and an ear for gossip, but it was impossible that he suspected Dettlaff. He was just making small talk. Dettlaff silently chastised himself for his paranoia, and reflected that his lack of sleep wasn’t doing him any favors.

“... Only that it’s terrible business, sir,” the bootblack said softly, “and what with you being personally acquainted with the Count, I’d wondered if you were all right.”

A shot of grief struck Dettlaff’s heart anew, and he looked with silent gravity at the empty chair beside him. The clever bootblack clearly didn’t miss the look, but he didn’t comment on it either.

“I’m... as well as I can be, given the circumstances,” Dettlaff said evasively. “I... thank you for your concern.”

“‘course,” the bootblack said, as if he offered veiled condolences to all his customers.

Somehow the young man salvaged the bitter silence, letting it stew for only a moment before quietly chattering about the gossip he’d heard, and how business was, and how the weather was awfully humid, and how the tourney was right around the corner, wasn’t it? The consideration of the gesture, the concerted effort to distract him from his sorrow, nearly overwhelmed Dettlaff.

“Pardon me,” said a strikingly familiar voice, and Dettlaff’s eyes snapped up to see Regis smiling politely, as if they were perfect strangers. “Mind if I sit down while I wait my turn?”

Dettlaff’s throat tightened, strangling any reply he might have made, but the bootblack was already ushering Regis into the seat beside him.

“Regis...” said Dettlaff, his voice raw with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” Regis said quietly, as if he were not here at Dettlaff’s request, “I couldn’t wait until you were alone.” Regis smiled down his hooked nose at the curious bootblack polishing their shoes. “And I suspect all the reserves in the ducal treasury couldn’t buy the silence of such an enterprising young lad.”

The bootblack perked up at the smell of coin. “Oh! I can keep quiet, sir, truly! Silent as the grave -”

“Perish the thought,” Regis interrupted wryly. “How about I double your fare, and you don’t ask any difficult questions, hm?”

The bootblack nodded gamely, and a grin spread on his smudged cheeks when Regis sportingly dropped a handful of crowns into his waiting hand. The young man glanced at Dettlaff, as if wondering whether his loyal customer would reveal to his friend that the amount of coin he’d just been given far exceeded his usual fare - but Dettlaff only smiled. He doubted Regis needed telling.

“You needn’t apologize,” Dettlaff assured his friend once he felt confident in his ability to speak. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“As am I,” Regis said. “Now, let us speak no further, lest we give our young friend reason to delay his work in the hopes of overhearing our conversation.”

* * *

It was a long walk to the Pheasantry, but traveling as smoke was out of the question. Despite the onset of dusk, the crowds were out in force. The city of wine and revelry never slept - and even less sleep was to be had when there was a tourney to prepare for.

As they began to walk the cobbled streets, Dettlaff worried the silence between them would be uncomfortable. He had left Regis rather abruptly, after all, and without much explanation. "I hope you didn't encounter any trouble traveling here," Dettlaff tried.

Regis was clearly surprised that it was _Dettlaff_ initiating the conversation. "Not at all," he said when he recovered from the shock. "There are few things that can trouble a higher vampire on the road, as you well know, Dettlaff. And Beauclair is not so far from Metinna, at that."

Truth be told, Dettlaff had missed their talks. It was strange. Normally he was satisfied with the company of garkains and fleders, who weren't much for conversation. It was much easier to deal with their simple instincts than the double-meanings and subtext that was so frequently found in the common tongue. In retrospect, nursing Regis back to health had been similar: in the state Dettlaff had found him, Regis had only been able to broadcast vague impressions of his thoughts and feelings, not unlike the lower vampires in whose company Dettlaff was most comfortable.

Perhaps that was why it had felt so _natural_ to help him - almost effortless, though Regis had always shaken his head and insisted he owed Dettlaff his life whenever he tried to tell him it hadn't been any trouble. When Regis had recovered enough to convey more complex ideas, and then eventually to speak, it had felt like a natural progression from the impressions which had only hinted at his true thoughts. Dettlaff had even been  _glad_ of the development, despite his usual discomfort with conversation, because it was a tangible sign of Regis's improving health.

"How is your recovery?" Dettlaff asked when it occurred to him. Regis had been well enough when Dettlaff had left for Beauclair, but he knew Regis still wasn't at full strength.

"Oh, well enough, I should think," Regis said vaguely. At Dettlaff's frown, Regis hesitated, seeming to reconsider his uninformative statement. "... I _do_  tire easily when I've many errands to run, and I _have_ been worried about you... But it's nothing to concern yourself with, my friend. I daresay, you look to be in worse shape than I am!"

Dettlaff suspected this was an understatement. Vampires didn't have the benefit of looking at themselves in a mirror, so there was no way to tell how truly haggard he looked. With how long he'd gone without sleep, and how intensely his grief and worry plagued him, he suspected he was a sight to make eyes sore.

"It seems neither of us has been getting much sleep," Dettlaff agreed. Regis offered up a rueful smile, which Dettlaff returned as best he could. "We can return to my home after this. You should drink from me."

"Out of the question," Regis said sternly. "You look like the living _dead,_ Dettlaff, if you'll pardon the cliché. I have absolutely no intention of exacerbating your condition."

Dettlaff frowned. He was tired, true, but not ill or injured, and he doubted he would worsen by offering Regis succor. But he let the matter lie for now, as they had arrived at the Pheasantry.

Dettlaff spared a glance for the tables out front, but he couldn't bear to look at them for long. It seemed like just yesterday he was sitting there with de la Croix, where the man spun yarns of their precious few exploits to the delight of his friends.

"Seems quite popular," Regis observed, though Dettlaff knew he was remarking on the risks posed by their own visibility.

Dettlaff would rather have taken Regis back to The Rocking Horse, but he couldn’t afford to miss a note from the blackmailers. "It won't be a problem. I've been here before," Dettlaff assured him. As a slightly disgruntled aside, he added, "... And it's the closest tavern to my home that isn't a brothel."

Regis's lip quirked. "I see. Hard to argue with such a glowing recommendation." He gestured grandly with one arm, inviting Dettlaff to step inside. "Shall we?"

They entered the establishment to the warm welcome of the barmaid. The other patrons were taking advantage of the outdoor seating on the veranda to enjoy the golden Toussaint sunset, so Regis and Dettlaff easily found a vacant table indoors tucked into a corner. No sooner than the barmaid had taken their orders and walked out of earshot did Regis take Dettlaff’s hand and look into his eyes imploringly. “Tell me what's wrong, Dettlaff.”

Dettlaff squeezed Regis’s hand, grateful for the contact. Though he had missed Regis, he had despaired of involving his friend when he was still recovering from the state Dettlaff had found him in. Now he supposed he had little choice. “I’m being blackmailed.”

Regis’s brows shot up in alarm. Regis discreetly disengaged from Dettlaff when the barmaid returned with their drinks, and he responded politely, if distractedly, assuring her they wouldn’t be needing anything else, thank you, yes, we’ll let you know if we change our minds.

Dettlaff always marveled at the way Regis was able to put others at ease. Even as she cast an uncertain look at her returning customer, the barmaid smiled warmly at Regis, and seemed to place any doubts she had about the darkly-dressed regular out of her mind as she wandered off again.

“ _Blackmail?”_ Regis whispered, despair and disbelief written in every line of his face. Dettlaff imagined he himself had borne a similar look when he first read the letter. “For what? By whom?”

“If I knew who it was, it would no longer be a problem,” Dettlaff muttered bitterly. He lifted his tankard and took a drink, to fortify himself, perhaps - but he barely tasted it. If nothing else, it helped the way his mouth dried out when he prepared what he would say next. “They have Rhenawedd.”

Regis’s face sagged with sympathy, and Dettlaff had to look away. Perhaps he should have enlisted Regis’s assistance in the first place. Regis would have been eager to help, and all this terrible business might have been avoided.

“And what do they want?” Regis asked.

Dettlaff took a deep breath. “I am to play the part of the _Beast of Beauclair_ ,” he said, sneering at the moniker the duchy had given him, “and kill five men, per their instructions.”

Silence met him, and Dettlaff grew uncertain. He had looked down on Regis’s human-hunting and blood games of ages past, and Regis was a staunch advocate of the worth of human life. Doubtless Regis would disapprove of his actions, and Dettlaff despaired of losing his friend over this.

When Regis sighed quietly, Dettlaff flinched.

“I suspected as much.”

Dettlaff was so taken aback by this admission that he met the gaze he had avoided until now. Regis’s brow was furrowed, but he did not look at Dettlaff with judgment or derision in his dark brown eyes. “You _suspected_ -?”

“Yes, Dettlaff,” Regis said, patient and resigned. “I followed you to Beauclair, as you must now know, but I lost your trail. When the murders began and rumors spread, it seemed only a higher vampire could have committed the crimes. And with how quickly you’d left...”

“I’m sorry,” Dettlaff said, voice hoarse. “I know how important humans are to you -”

“And to you,” Regis reminded him. “Don’t think I didn’t see how fond you are of that bootblack. Dettlaff, you don’t have a deceitful bone in your body. Serial murder?” Regis shook his head. “I knew you had to be in trouble." Then his brow furrowed, and he stared into the murky depths of the drink he hadn't touched. "I just wish I could’ve done something sooner...”

“Don’t,” Dettlaff said. “Regis, please. You couldn’t have known. I should’ve told you.”

He _should_ have told him, he was certain now. Seeing the way Regis smiled sadly, Dettlaff should have known Regis would have helped him save Rhenawedd and avoid all the bloodshed.

“It _is_ unfortunate,” Regis said, as if he could read Dettlaff’s mind, “but what’s done cannot be undone. And you’ve sought my help now. What changed?”

A new dark pit of shame opened up in Dettlaff’s chest. He could tell from Regis’s tone that his friend wanted to hear that he’d had a moral crisis, that he couldn’t bear to kill innocent humans any more. How disappointed would he be when Dettlaff told him he couldn’t find his next mark?

Surprised warmth bloomed in his chest and fought with the tangle of shame and dread when Regis took his hand again. “Dettlaff, _please,_ ” Regis implored. When Dettlaff met his eyes, Regis’s gaze was heartbreakingly beseeching. “Don’t shut me out again.”

Dettlaff shut his eyes momentarily, searching for inner strength. When he opened them again, Regis looked despairing, like he was afraid Dettlaff would vanish in an instant and leave him searching once more.

Dettlaff would be lying if he said the urge to do so wasn’t tempting.

To assure his friend while he mustered the strength to answer, Dettlaff took Regis’s hand with both of his. “I won't. I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “The man intended to be my next target is nowhere to be found. I’ve hunted for two days without sleep, and I’m afraid... Rhenawedd will be...” Dettlaff couldn’t bear to say it, much less think it, but the thoughts overcame him despite how desperately he tried to stave them off.

Regis closed the distance between them on the bench and pulled Dettlaff into a tight embrace. Dettlaff shuddered and clung to Regis’s shoulders. “We’ll find her,” Regis promised.

Now that Regis was involved, Dettlaff was confident Rhenawedd would be found.

He only hoped it was before the kidnappers mailed her to him in pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YouTube user River Capulet: The funny thing is if you refuse [the Duchess's contract] and they insist on staying, the killing would have stopped as Dettlaff needed to go find Milton first.
> 
> me: oh shit you're right


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a couple changes to chapter 1, so please go and skim it over if you haven't read it since February 24, 2019! If you don't feel like doing that, here's a changelog:
> 
>   * Changed the title AND the summary. The new ones are superior.
>   * Dettlaff now makes small talk. Regis traveled all this way, you could at least make an _effort_ , Dettlaff.
>   * Realized The Scarlet Cardinal was literal miles to the south, so I moved Regis and Dettlaff to the Pheasantry - which, as it happens, is the same location Dettlaff received the note with de la Croix's name in the Resonance memories! Very sad! ):
>   * Upon further research, I learned that Dettlaff never owned or operated the toy store he lives in. He's a dirty squatter living in a derelict, abandoned building!
>   * Upgraded Regis and Dettlaff's relationship in the tags from platonic to romantic. Yea boiii
> 

> 
> Now that housekeeping's sorted, on with the chapter!

When Dettlaff first arrived in Beauclair, he’d made his nest in the abandoned Rocking Horse. Its previous owner had gotten into financial trouble of some kind and been evicted - gambling or drinking, most likely. It had fallen into disrepair, its stock seized by the authorities along with the shopfront and residence.

Evidently, though, they hadn’t thought much of what remained when they came to inventory it: dolls and stuffed animals and rocking horses and puppets and play swords filled the dusty shelves. Before de la Croix, Dettlaf had been keeping busy with what he could find, fiddling with the toys and mending what he could, just to have something to do with his hands. He'd found comfort in the simple task of repairing the toy shop’s forgotten occupants.

Though Dettlaff was competent at portraiture, he couldn’t imagine setting up an easel in the Gran’place and selling his art like the other craftsmen who hawked their wares there. He lacked the social skills necessary to entice customers, and the thought of interacting with that many people in one day would have been agony to Dettlaff.

Toy-making, though - _that_ he could see himself doing. He even considered tracking down the lien-holders and buying the place properly, when all this was done. Maybe opening the shop back up, commissioning a new sign, re-painting the door...

In these fleeting fantasies, Rhenawedd was there with him, and they lived a simple and beautiful life together in the apartment above the toy shop.

It was to this apartment Dettlaff brought Regis when they left the Pheasantry after dark.

Dettlaff went to the desk to light a candle. Shaking the matchstick when he was done, he looked up and realized Regis was no longer beside him.

“Is that...?” Regis trailed off, and when Dettlaff looked over he saw Regis examining the portrait he’d sketched straight onto the wall.

“Rhenawedd,” Dettlaff said softly.

Regis stared quietly at the drawing. Dettlaff gathered the notes on his desk, and when Regis joined him a moment later Dettlaff handed them over.

“I see,” Regis said gravely once he had read them all. “How frequently do you get these notes? Where do they come from?”

“About once every two weeks, so far.” Dettlaff leaned on the edge of the desk and stared at his hands. “Sometimes they fall on my table at the Pheasantry, or into my lap at the bootblack’s. Or I'll come home and realize it's in my pocket, with no idea how it got there.”

Regis tapped his chin. “So the blackmailers are employing people cunning enough to evade notice. Probably pickpockets. Maybe children.”

“It's not children,” Dettlaff said, shaking his head. He always took notice of children.

“Then adults,” Regis amended, not questioning the claim. “Which leaves thieves and beggars as our most likely suspects.”

Dettlaff hesitated. “If the blackmailers know I'm trying to find them...”

“To be sure, it's a dangerous risk. But let me ask you something, my friend.” Regis sat in the chair at Dettlaff's desk. “Do you _really_ think the kidnappers will give her up once you've satisfied their demands?”

Dettlaff took a shaky breath. “I don't know,” he admitted. The alternative was Rhenawedd's painful death, which didn't bear consideration. He would do whatever it took to avoid that outcome.

“The reason it's so dangerous to negotiate with this particular brand of criminal,” Regis said, “is because you make yourself an _asset_ to them. Who's to say they won't be so pleased with your work that they hold Rhenawedd hostage _indefinitely,_  just in case they have need of your services again in the future?”

Dettlaff clenched and unclenched his fists. His right hand was still tender from being so recently regenerated. He rubbed the knuckles of his fresh right hand with the rough fingertips of his left. Regis glanced at the movement, but didn't comment on it. “Then I'll save her.”

“Why wait?” Regis asked. “The kidnappers are obviously local _now,_  as they must maintain correspondence to give you orders.” His gesticulating hands caught Dettlaff's eye, drawing his gaze to his friend’s focused expression. “If you wait until their business in Toussaint is done, they might escape with Rhenawedd. The trail will grow cold.”

Dettlaff shook his head. “But if I do as they ask, they might let Rhenawedd _go._ ”

Regis sighed. “I'm afraid that ‘might’ is the operative word here, my friend.” He picked up the first letter and tapped it with his other hand. “They don't even claim they'll return her to you if you do their bidding. Not that any claims to that effect would be _credible,_  coming from kidnappers and blackmailers, mind...”

Spreading his arms out, at a loss, Dettlaff asked, “Then what should I do?”

Regis set the letter aside and leaned forward, lacing his fingers together loosely. “We have two options.” When Dettlaff nodded and gestured for Regis to go on, he asked, “How many days do you have left to kill the next man? Before they make good on their threat?”

It took Dettlaff a moment to line up his thoughts to do the math, addled and exhausted as he was. “The last set of instructions gave me three days. I’ve searched for two with no sign of him.”

“Right,” Regis said, obviously doing some calculations of his own. “The first option is this: we can scour the continent hunting for him, when we have no idea where he is, and _hope_ that news of his passing reaches the blackmailers in the span of time available to us.”

Dettlaff was beginning to see Regis's logic. “Rumor at court has it that he could be as far as _Skellige_ by now.”

“An impossible task,” Regis said, just as Dettlaff was thinking it. “Even if we made it that far and did the deed, the news would never reach the blackmailers in time. That leaves...”

“Finding the blackmailers and saving Rhenawedd ourselves,” Dettlaff finished.

“Just so,” Regis said with a nod. “Now, I believe I know where we might begin our search, but--”

Both vampires froze, straightening with alertness in their respective seats.

Someone had knocked on the door downstairs -  _despite_ all evidence indicating the shop had been closed for months, and the late hour besides. Dettlaff hadn’t used the front door since he’d begun living at The Rocking Horse, so that left few possibilities as to who could be at the door.

Their eyes met.

“If it's a note from the blackmailers,” Regis said quietly, “I'll follow the messenger.”

Dettlaff nodded, and Regis dissipated into smoke and billowed out the window.

Dettlaff stood and made his way downstairs. Fear and anxiety mounted within him as he approached the door, and he hesitated before unlatching the bolt and pulling it open.

The sight of the cloaked woman on his doorstep filled Dettlaff with relief.

“Evelyn,” he said, “quickly, come inside.” Dettlaff curled an arm around her cloaked shoulders and ushered her into the toy shop, closing and latching the door behind him. “I was concerned when I didn't hear from you.”

The bruxa pulled her hood down to her shoulders, shaking her head of dark hair. Her yellow eyes glinted in the unlit toy shop. “I was watching the guards night and day. You didn't make it easy, dear Dettlaff.”

“I know. I'm sorry for the trouble. Come, you can rest upstairs.”

When they climbed the stairs, Regis curled back in through the window in a cloud of smoke before assuming his humanoid form. Evelyn glanced at Dettlaff, but at his lack of reaction, she evidently decided the other vampire's presence wasn't worth commenting on.

“Were you able to retrieve it?” Dettlaff asked, ignoring Regis's curious look.

Evelyn reached into the folds of her cloak. When her hand emerged, it was holding Dettlaff's - the one he had severed in a fit of grief after killing de la Croix.

Dettlaff flexed his newly regenerated right hand in response to the surreal phantom sensation of seeing its twin before him. He accepted it from Evelyn.

“I could have saved you the trouble of making a new one if you'd let me kill the guards.” Evelyn complained. “They watched that cellar like _hawks._  I was lucky the guards dozed off last night, or there's no telling how long I would have had to wait.”

Regis's gaze on Dettlaff was gaining weight, and he couldn't resist the urge to meet his friend's eyes. Regis looked almost _proud._ Dettlaff looked away just as quickly.

“Thank you for going to the effort,” Dettlaff said to Evelyn.

The bruxa bowed shortly. “Of course, dear Dettlaff.” She looked between the two higher vampires. Despite Dettlaff's standing invitation, she said, “I think I'll take my leave.”

“You're welcome to rest here,” Dettlaff insisted, placing the severed hand on the desk.

Evelyn shook her head. “I don't want to interrupt. I'll return to my nest.” She leaned up and kissed Dettlaff's cheek, as casual as she always was with affection. “Until next time.”

Dettlaff nodded, and he saw Evelyn down the stairs and to the door, so he could lock it behind her.

When he returned upstairs, Regis was holding the hand and examining it. “I had wondered,” he murmured when Dettlaff was in earshot, “about the ring...”

A pang of regret shot through Dettlaff. He realized Regis must have come to his own conclusions about what he had done with the ring - perhaps that he had forsaken what it stood for.

Considering Dettlaff had essentially become a killer for hire, that was, regrettably, not far from the truth.

“I cut off the hand that killed de la Croix.” He went to stand beside the desk. A shiver ran down his spine at the way Regis gently handled the severed appendage, as if inspecting the skin for - Dettlaff didn't know what. “He showed me kindness. We had grown friendly, and I didn't know he... we were sitting together when I received the note with his name.”

Regis looked up suddenly. “You befriended him?”

Dettlaff nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Oh, _Dettlaff._ ” Regis set the hand aside and closed the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Dettlaff, who shuddered and returned the embrace, burying his head in Regis's shoulder. The threat of tears stung his eyes, and he shut them tight. “I'm so sorry,” Regis whispered. “I can't imagine how painful that must have been.”

Dettlaff took in a shaky breath. “If I'd asked for your help in the first place,” he said with difficulty, “he might still be _alive._ ”

Regis shushed him, stroking his hair, and Dettlaff squeezed Regis as tight as he dared.

This, in the wake of Regis's reasoning, decided Dettlaff. Even if the blackmailers had been ignorant of his association with de la Croix, they had still forced him to kill his friend. The blame for the act itself lay solely with Dettlaff, of course. He would carry that knowledge, and the guilt that came with it, for as long as he lived.

But Dettlaff’s personal guilt would not prevent him from taking vengeance on those who had forced his hand and endangered Rhenawedd.

Dettlaff would never again allow himself to be driven to make so terrible a choice.

Eventually, the comfort of Regis’s embrace and the strength of Dettlaff’s newfound resolve calmed him. Regis tightened his hold briefly before ending the embrace. Dettlaff wiped his eyes. When he opened them again, Regis was holding out the ring from their homeland.

Dettlaff frowned. “I don't deserve...”

“It's not about deserving,” Regis said. “It's about striving to do better.”

Dettlaff carefully accepted the ring and replaced it on his hand. It felt like securing a promise. It was a relief to have it back where it belonged.

“Now,” Regis said, back to business, “we certainly can't leave _this_ lying around. What would you like to do with it?”

It took Dettlaff a moment to realize Regis was talking about the hand, still sitting on his desk. “I’ve no idea. Burn it, perhaps?”

Regis nodded in understanding. “I'll dispose of it somewhere appropriate. In the meantime...”

“You mentioned an idea of where to start looking?”

Regis's lips twitched into a half smile, pleased at Dettlaff for taking the initiative. “Yes. Meet me at the bootblack’s in the morning.”

Dettlaff balked. “Regis, we only have _one day_ \--”

“I understand fully the time constraints we are operating under, Dettlaff,” Regis said patiently. “As enterprising as he is, I doubt our young friend operates this late into the evening. He’s probably already gone home and tucked himself into bed.”

Dettlaff worried his lip between his teeth, inadvertently drawing blood. He hissed in pain, wiping his mouth. “Isn’t there something we can do in the meantime?”

“Rest, I should think,” Regis said wryly. “Neither of us will do Rhenawedd any good if we’re dropping off to sleep on her kidnapper’s doorstep.”

Dettlaff sighed. Regis was right - neither of them were particularly well-rested at the moment, and Dettlaff had wasted enough time running himself ragged. Now that he had a plan of action, he needed to properly prepare if he wanted to implement it. And loath as he was to shut his eyes for even a moment, ensuring he was well-rested was a necessary part of those preparations.

“Very well,” Dettlaff grudgingly agreed. “But why meet there? I won’t keep you if you’ve business to attend to, but you’re welcome to stay the night. I’ve missed you dearly, Regis.”

Regis smiled at him with that familiar look of endearment that never failed to come out when Dettlaff wore his heart on his sleeve. “It’s quite a gracious invitation, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

Dettlaff was disappointed, but he inclined his head in understanding.

Regis cleared his throat. “You see, I was recently entrusted with the remains of a _very_ dear friend, and I would be remiss not to lay him to rest...”

Surprised, Dettlaff barked out a laugh, and he saw the mirth in Regis’s eyes as he gathered the other vampire tightly into his arms. “ _Very_ amusing,” Dettlaff said. “Perhaps this dear friend should lay _you_ to rest?”

Regis hummed, as if it required deep consideration. “Yes, all right.”

They prepared for bed, divesting themselves of their cumbersome over-clothes and belongings. Dettlaff carefully checked his pockets, a thread of worry worming its way into his stomach. Nothing came up that he didn’t expect, and he let out a sigh of simultaneous relief and disappointment.

A note from the blackmailers about Peyrac-Peyran’s whereabouts, or perhaps a grudging allowance of additional time, would have been welcome right about now.

“Find anything?” Regis cut in gently. Dettlaff shook his head. “Ah, well. We’ve tomorrow.” Regis took Dettlaff’s heavy leather coat and hung it over the desk chair, then tossed his own coat atop it.

They settled down in the low bed across the room from the desk, below the circular window through which Dettlaff could see the stars.

Dettlaff laid down, and was about to beckon Regis to join him when Regis threw himself across Dettlaff’s chest. “Oh, Dettlaff!” he cried. “You were too young to die! How could this have happened?”

Dettlaff fought back laughter, but his chest still shook with it, and it crept into his voice when he said, “Regis--”

“Hush,” Regis said. “The dearly departed don’t _speak,_ Dettlaff.”

Dettlaff couldn’t hold back his laughter any more, and he tugged Regis down to lay beside him. He was still sick with worry, but seeing Regis smiling beside him, knowing he had his friend’s confidence and a plan... It was much easier than it might otherwise have been to tether himself to the moment.

They had a plan.

They had tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you guys like the part where Regis pretends Dettlaff is dead? It's funny because Regis kills Dettlaff in the game!
> 
> I love being in pain! 8)


End file.
